TAKE MY HAND

Mathew, lets talk, you and I. We can have one of our little chats. The one’s you like so much. I apologize if I don’t bother to tickle your balls first, warm you up with a little of my usual conversational foreplay. So I’m sorry, no witty little comments about the latest (and ghastly) societal trends. No political commentary. Not even a somewhat bland and sarcastically obvious remark about our recent heat wave. No, no, no not today. Just for today we’re like an old married couple where the husband forgets about the romance and simply proceeds to the intercourse.

You are not going to like this…but you will thank me later.

Now, we get right down to the hard and nasty. I have a question for you. Where were you last night? Hmmmm?

At home watching TV were you? Fell asleep on the couch did you? Alone?
Oh, I especially like that last little touch. Giving it a hint of self deprecation so that your lie rings more true…

What? You thought I didn’t’ know? What, were you afraid to tell me? As if I wouldn’t find out on my own. Tsk tsk tsk, what ever shall we do with you Mathew? What ever shall we do? You knew I wouldn’t believe you. That I would know, right? You were just hoping that I would pretend not to, let it go, make it easier on both of us. I try to help, I really do, but quite frankly you make it difficult sometimes. Especially when you want us to feed each other bullshit. Bullshit’s one of the few games I don’t like to play. Unless it’s with a woman. And despite some of your behavior, you’re no fucking woman.

You were at the park again weren’t you? Yes, I thought so. What were you doing? Thinking? Walking? Praying? Bicycling? No.

You were indulging in a bit of voyeurism. Yes quite lovely wasn’t it? Watching pretty little high school girls getting groped by their Neanderthal boyfriends. It must be infuriating, knowing how you never had that. Never will.

Does it get you hard Mathew? To spy on little boys and girls groping each other, kissing and doing all the things you missed out on? Course your adolescence wasn’t like most boys was it? No yours was so much more… well lets not get into that. No need to beat a dead horse.
Oh , but that hard on. It doesn’t last does it? You touch yourself. Imagining that you’re in there with her. Being human.

You’re literally on the outside looking in. I do so hate it when a metaphor is made literal in such an obvious way. You, wishing so desperately for some semblance of normalcy and intimacy. Longing for whatever it is you think is out there for you.

Ejaculation brings you a little bit of relief. But then what?

Your left with your emptiness and a puddle of your cum. All alone in the dark, binoculars in hand, limp dick in the other…that sad little longing look in your eyes. Wishing, praying, hoping that thing were different, that you could be like them. That you could’ve had something when you were their age. Or that you had something now. Pathetic.

Times like these the game board is laid out in front of you, clear as day isn’t it? The whole world. And your place in it. You see yourself the way God sees you in that moment. Dirty, filthy, little middle aged pervert. Sick, sad broken man lying in a puddle of his own cum. Destined to die a virgin. Pathetic and longing to have what he never can. Freak. Geek. Monster. Queer. You hear them saying it. Thinking it. All of them.

And then it comes. Oh God does it come. Pure. Black. And pounding. The rage just comes. You don’t know what to do with it do you? So you do the only thing you know how to do…you start again what you just finished. Harder and harder, faster and faster. You try and kill it but you can’t. It does you no good. Your little friend isn’t’ your friend anymore. Instead your limp dick just sits there and laughs at you. Fucking laughs at how pathetic you are. You piece of shit! You don’t enjoy it! There’s no pleasure in it for you! So why do you do it? Only God knows why and he hasn’t been there to answer your questions in a long, long time. But yet you sit there and you continue to jerk off until it hurts and God it hurts soooo bad.

But you continue, until finally it can squeeze out a pathetic little drop of semen in your trousers. You don’t even bother to bring a wipe rag for your cum do you? Goddamn animal. No fucking shame. Then what?

Fat man starts to cry. Like fucking clockwork. How long have you been doing this little ritual? Night after night. You could set your watch to it. Self loathing doesn’t even begin to cover it does it? There’s no word for how you feel in that moment. It’s all laid out in front of you. You can’t escape it.

A fat man sobbing into his hands, crying out to an empty fucking world. Hating what he’s allowed the world to turn him into. Crying out to his God but finding shit. Nothing but shit as far as the eye can see. You look at your shitty little job, your shitty little life, alone in that shitty little apartment. Day in and day out, the loneliness moving in on you. Crushing you. Suffocating you.

Your life is nothing. It’s meaningless. Friends, relationships, careers, you've tried, oh how have you tried, but none of it worked for you did it? You’re not built for all that are you? Nothing could ever love you! You’re broken inside and you know it! You go day by day pretending to be like the rest of them and maybe you’re able to fool some of them but you can’t fool me and you sure as hell can’t fool your self! This isn’t the life you were meant to live Mathew! It just isn’t! It doesn’t even matter if you choose me over Him. All roads eventually lead down the same place. You know it’s true. You know what’s going to happen.

One of these warm sticky, lonely night you’re going to be out there again and you’re gonna sob just a little too hard. You’ll forget to turn off the light in your car. You’ll do something stupid. Something. They will hear you. They will see you. That macho prick will come to investigate. And then what? They will discover you for the pathetic stinking loser that you are. The lonely pervert who has to resort to masturbating at a lover’s lane just to grasp at something resembling humanity. Trying to catch a glimpse of intimacy like some of it can fucking rub off on him. It’s not a fucking butterfly asshole! You can’t just catch it and put it in a bottle.

Fucking idiot. What did you think would happen? You thought that you could play this little game without it escalating further? We both know what comes next. The shame. The guilt. The desperation… the rage oh that rage, you will finally have somewhere to put it. You will try to stop it even as you love unleashing it. So what will it be? A large rock? A tree branch? That pocket knife that you so conveniently keep with you all the time. Your bare hands?! You stud you.

Whatever it is the boy will go down first. He’s the biggest threat . That won’t take long, he’s just an obstacle, he’ll be over quick.

But the girl. Oh yes with him gone the girl will be all yours. Yes, that’s what you want. That’s what you’ve wanted all along isn’t it? Secretly deep down you've been praying for this day to come. You’ve been praying to me.

You finally have her all to your self. But be careful, you don’t want to spoil it, make it all over too soon. A man like you wants to savor, to enjoy. Finally after all these years you finally have a real live girl in your arms, one that can never run away, or leave you, or make fun of you or reject you or remind you of what you really are. For once things are going your way. You’re crying Mathew, is something wrong? Does the truth hurt? Does it sting? Does it bite? Do you bite her? You relish it don’t you? How she kicks and screames and cries...does she cry for her mother? I bet she does. I bet you enjoy it tremendously. You never much cared for your mother, did you? The things she did to you when you were just a little boy…

But that’s all over now isn’t it? Finally you have her, you possess her. Nothing can stop you. You relish how she cries. You tear off the clothes. You slash. You bite. You hurt. You cut. It doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the night finally you’ll no longer be a virgin. You finally popped your cherry, who knows maybe hers too.. Not very likely though, what with girls nowadays. If you want virgin pussy nowadays you’re gonna have to start strolling by middles schools and even then who knows? But that’s for another day. Let’s focus on that special night. Because finally after all the ridicule. All the rejection. All the hurt and the filth. And the rage and the impotence and the shame of living with what you are.

You have been redeemed. You are an emperor and you have a poor helpless little girl in front of you. . She can do nothing to resist you. You can pump away at her a few more times if you want. She’s yours. You can kill her outright then and there. Oh no. But you won’t, no you wouldn’t, would you? You’re going to take her with you.

Well why not, who’s going to stop you?. You’re an emperor. And if an emperor wants to have a harem filled with sex slaves…will that is within his right isn’t it? Nothing can stop you now. Go ahead, take her, they’ll look for her. They’ll try and find you. They won’t. I’ll protect you. See, God can’t give you what I can. I can give you power. Control. I can make them fear you. I can turn you into the kind of creature you always wanted to become. The monster you were meant to be.

No more meek. No more meager. No more pretending. No more. So don’t cry, don’t cry Mathew, don’t cry out to a God that doesn’t love you. A God who doesn’t give a shit about you.

Mathew? Mathew, stop crying. It’s going to be ok. Where is the girl? Where is the girl? Your basement? Is she still alive? Have you fed her yet? Will anyone hear her scream? Is it safe? Can she get away?

Good. You did good. This is just the beginning. I’m going to give you a harem. An entire harem all to yourself. You’ll never be lonely again. They’ll all be lined up, waiting for you in your cellar. Every night. As many as you want. Chained to the wall and there for you. You just have to take them. One by one. Just take them Mathew. Stop crying.

He can’t give you what I can. He won’t protect his flock. Just take my hand Mathew. Just take my hand. There, that’s it. Doesn’t it feel so beautiful? What you and I have? Believe me, everything will be different from now on. Yes, that’s right, just take my hand.

It’s ok Mathew. It’s ok. You can stop crying now. Listen to me. Mathew…look at me. Look at me. Mathew… I love you.


By: Fabian Chacon

LOVE

Time to make love to that corpse again. Her name is Misty, and even though she’s got a stripper name she’s actually a very pretty teacher’s aid from South Texas. She was driving to California to visit family when her car broke down and she got stranded by the side of the road. That’s when I found her.

She could’ve been a model. She really could’ve been, she’s really a very pretty girl. That red from the slash in her throat looks lovely against that milk white neck. I lean in, meaning to taste just a drop of her blood.

But the mouth, it’s own animal, has it’s own plans. It wants to explore it’s new territory. It stops here and there just long enough to do what it does best. Suck. Bite. Nibble. Lick. Suck. My hands are all over her even though I said I’d pace myself. I can’t help it, her body is so…

Oh god it can’t possibly feel this good for this long and still leave you human. So you stop fighting it but you don’t unleash it. You just hold it on that threshold. That razor’s edge between heaven and Hell. I promise myself I’ll live no where else from now on. But I always say that, no one can keep that promise. Like I said, it’s inhuman.

I look up at Heaven like He can help me. As if he made some patron saint just for my kind. Some little sacrament to let the perverts of this world transcend themselves.

We carved out monuments on each others skin. Her with her nails when she tried to fight back. Me when I mutilated her body with by hunting knife. She’s my perfect angel that I tore down from the sky and I want to love her, even if it’s just for one night.

Sometimes you get an image of yourself. What you must look like when God sees you. He sees a junkie who couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. And why would I?

I think of Christ on the Cross and I know I wanna put someone on there someday. But not today.

Oh god, I’m all over her, around her, in her.

The Inquisition would’ve burned you at the stake, and rightfully so. You deserve the worst kind of Hell this world has to offer it’s monsters and you revel in it. That’s God’s voice calling out from the burning bush, casting me out of His Kingdom. I only laugh. I ran away from that years ago.

When I was 11 my aunt was my babysitter and she would faun all over me even as I plotted to steal a twenty from her purse and stared at her enormous breasts. They practically spilled out of her black lacy bra as she went around the house in that skimpy little robe. It was leopard print .Very tacky. Bending over here and there, giving a boy his first glimpse of the great treasures this world had to offer if only he would take them. She smoked too many cigarettes and wore too much makeup. Her breathe always smelled a little of bourbon. But back to those breasts, they were really something, ample and full and Jesus when she wore those black stockings it just completed her whole sluttish ensemble. Attractive in the cheapest sort of way. I tend to like classier women but there’s a place for it. I’m no snob.

Some times I would sit and stare as she sunbathed. She pretended not to notice. I was eyeing the borders of the Kingdom even then, plotting my daring escape. Even then I longed to be free while the adults in my life were putting me in a Catholic boarding school. A place you put kids in because prisons are full. People like me tend to thrive in such environments, but mostly I was bored. This suits me a lot better.

I ended up fucking my aunt when I was 13. She wasn’t my first but definitely one of my best. I videotaped it and later blackmailed her with it. I got $5,000 out of it and still kept on fucking her. She was into it. She secretly liked being dominated. Something her faggot of a husband could never understand. Mostly because he was too much of a pansy to admit to him self that he wanted that too. Men love to hurt women just as much as women like being hurt, they just want to do it in a context that is acceptable to their conscious. Make it safe. Make it clean. Playing pretend games where no one can really get hurt. Fuzzy handcuffs and simulated rape. Fucking hilarious to me how people can pretend to be satisfied with that schoolboy bullshit. Too afraid to take the plunge all the way in, so they just dip their toe in the fiery lake. Ah, to be a child again. Leaps and bounds ahead of the stupid adults.

Misty’s propped up in a chair and as I get on my knees to eat her cunt (that’s eat as in bite, chew, swallow, digest) I’m reminded of a painting I first saw when I was 16. A slave, beaten and broken, kneels at the feet of his naked and beautiful Goddess. She twists her head back and laughs, cruelly mocking his worship. She is absolutely gorgeous. She is not named in the painting. But I know her. Her name is Entropy and I love her. She is the natural state of the universe. I worship at her feet every day of my life.

Complete and utter submission to your most base desires. There is no greater freedom. This whole act is an obscenity and a monument to her reign. And reign she does, over the hearts of all men though they try to deny it. And see, that’s the Hell of it for the sheep in His flock. I am a vicious and immoral man. But I am still a man, not a monster. As much as you fight it, you know that trembling in some dark corner of your soul lies a man like me.

And you love me. You love me from the bottom of your black little heart. You love me but you pretend not to so you don’t hate yourself for it. Instead you live vicariously through me to spare yourself the guilt. God’s law tries to tear at the evil in you, tear and tear they do. But they can never tear hard enough because you would sooner die than cut out a piece of your own heart.

I start to finish up on Misty. My lips gently brush against hers. It last longer than anything between humans has a right to. The climb down is exhausting. Some part of her will always be mine. But Entropy is my bride. She is insane and I will never truly love any other woman.


By: Fabian Chacon

Doctor...

Lose the blue buttons on my blouse,
drop my bra to the floor,
rub your warm body on mine,
examine my body against yours.

Cure my dry lips,
cure my thirst with your breath,
cure my lonely bed.

Wet my breasts with your tongue
and feel my temperature rise like fever.
Check my pulse
beating at high speed
like a roadrunner.

Burn your jeans,
throw away mine
and give me that pill
that takes me
on a roller coaster ride.


By: Olga Lydia Chacon

Jenny

Uncle Bob
ripped a part
Jenny's clothes,
threw them
under the trees
into the dirt,
forced
his dirty old penis
into my sister's vagina.
He left her
beaten
bruised
bleeding
for three weeks
out in the cold.

Policemen found
Jenny's little body
covered
with mud
with weeds
with maggots
with yellow leaves.

I pray
for that animal
to stay locked up in its cage.
I wake up
in the middle
of the night
staring
at the ceiling.
My skin shivers
at the idea
of closing my eyes again-
I hear little Jenny screaming,
"mommy, mommy"
then calling out my name,
"Sally, Sally."

By: Olga Lydia Chacon

Crucifixion

By: Sergio Chacon

She Buddha

By: Sergio Chacon

The Three Amigas

By: Sergio Chacon

Confessions

Behind a pulpit
I talk about God
spreading his love
when there isn’t
any in my life.

I tell men they’ll
burn in hell for drinking
when I don’t survive
three days without having
a bottle of tequila
on my kitchen table.

I tell my people
to study the holy book,
when I don’t read it anymore.
"Believe what it says," I tell them
while I spend nights and nights
reading Ingersoll who wrote
about the church teaching us
that God is happy
when we are miserable.

I pretend to listen
to women crying
about their husbands
sharing a bed
with a younger woman
while I think of
the playboy magazines
under my bed.

I have usher boys
picking up donations
for the poor—
every time
we’re alone
behind the altar,
I touch their penises
and place their hands
on mine.

After every sermon,
the crowd stands up, applauds
and some even kiss my hand—
I feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins,
I crave this power.
I won’t stop
lying,
condemning,
pretending to listen…

No, I won’t stop preaching.


By: Olga L. Chacon